


On the nature of daylight

by hauntedpoem



Series: Say hello to your new boyfriend [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And violence, Annatar aka Sauron, Anxiety, Astronomy, Breaking and Entering, Cemeteries, Depression, Dreams, Emotional Abuse, Good Dad Thranduil, Legolas has a bit of a crush on Tauriel but it's only temporary, Legolas has an inclination for the esoteric, Maglor and Thranduil are fuckbuddies, Mentions of Blood, Other, Psychological Trauma, Snow, Star Gazing, Telescopes, Tresspassing, Warped Reality, Weird Shit, Young Thranduil, and bloodied steaks, and so much horror, architect Thranduil, because that's how Thranduil knows him, but for some reason I abhor that name so I use Annatar, crystals and wicca/magic shit, drawing of goofy Thranduil and pouty Legolas, dream shift, erm... where is that cardigan, exhausted Thranduil, guess who? Sauron or his minions, he's the best dwarf ever, home intruders, home stuff, i love Gimli son of Gloin, incense, mistakes mistakes, omg I have art, so much abuse, some horror vibes, the Mirkwood house, the forest - Freeform, trauma from past abusive relationship, vegan Legolas, vegan Thranduil, vegan meals, vegan recipes, winter feasts, yeah I've said it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Dreams, memories and the present - they all appear different in the daylight.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMirkyKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMirkyKing/gifts).



> This begins very sweet but turns out to be very dark. At least that's how I imagined it.  
> This is the music I mentioned in the fic:  
> -Rachmaninoff's [prelude in G minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QB7ugJnHgs)  
> -Beethoven's [Moonlight Sonata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OsOUcikyGRk) and [Für Elise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAsDLGjMhFI)  
> if you prefer, you can listen to [Fireplace Sounds with Howling Wind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdd9b47x67M) instead. Works for me.  
> -  
> Also, the cute drawing of Thranduil and Legolas mentioned in this fic is by [TheMirkyKing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMirkyKing/profile)  
> here is the [drawing](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BwBXknwVLKsNb0FGUTNfV3J0ZEk/view)!  
> -  
> Enjoy!

The house is silent. From time to time, the wood creaks and the wind lashes against the windows. Leaves and branches hit the glass making a terrible ruckus. Mirkwood weather is unpredictable, especially in February. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it snows. Sometimes the sun shines bright and at night, when the sky is clear, you can see the stars with the naked eye. The house is like a person, or so Thranduil thinks.

He designs houses but this one is a home. It’s large and spacious, with high ceilings and huge windows – to let the light in, because he’s lived for too long in his father’s house, with darkened corridors and shadowy rooms. It’s lightly furnished in natural, pale tones. Thranduil always shunned the heavy dark wood with which Oropher would adorn his house.

Their three storeys house is as safe as Thranduil could make it. It has a pool, a vegetable garden, a flower garden, an area for Legolas’ archery practice. Further along, there’s a green hill, surrounded by tall rocks which Legolas loved to play hide and seek when younger. He plans on building a studio for his practice here but he’s not yet settled on that. Or maybe Legolas could use it for when the art bug bites him. Or they could both use it and play with clay and draw silly doodles. Where they could be together. It would be wonderful in springtime.

 In late autumn father and son would lie on a quilt on the hill and admire the long tail of stars in Eridanus and the sparkly Orion’s belt. Sometimes they would catch glimpses of shooting stars. With a pair of binoculars each, they would try and identify the rest: Andromeda, Pegasus, Pisces, Taurus and more. Thranduil insisted on building an observatory in the annexe for Legolas’ sixteenth birthday. They would spend winter nights there, by the fire, with celestial maps and cups of hot cocoa, surrounded by the gentle light coming from a myriad of candles and crystals.

An amethyst geode for emotional balance. Green jade animal statuettes because Legolas likes everything green.

Celestite because Thranduil likes the colour and the rock formation- it has an intricate architecture. Angelite, for Elanorwen, Legolas’ mother, because she is among the angels.

He always asks about her on the nights when they’re watching the stars. Thranduil’s memories of her are as pure and as fresh as the snow. Her birthday was in late December. Thranduil was born in May. She was the winter, he was the spring. And Legolas would always be the summer. Late June, when the leaves are emerald green and sing in the wind. Green leaf.

 Thranduil spends a day every month visiting Elanorwen’s grave and just talking in front of her tombstone. Ironically, his father is buried next to her. He sometimes speaks to him. Sometimes he shouts. He’s stopped hurling insults at the mocking silent stone ever since a pale haired youth passed by and threw strange looks in his direction. He’s lost someone as well. He always visits Maglor’s afterwards. He takes the pain away.

There are various agates and quartzes which Legolas insisted on buying and distributing everywhere in the house. They have an obsidian panther watching over the swimming pool which Legolas surprised him with one day saying he’s spent all his savings on it. Thranduil likes it because Legolas likes it. Or because he thinks he likes it.

On the North side is a path that becomes obstructed in winter. Legolas would make angels in the snow. It would be cold but Thranduil would always lie next to him and just watch as snowflakes pile up.

Perfectly formed geometrical figures.

Frost would paint their windowpanes with wild flowers and leaves and Legolas would put row upon row of quinces, apples and nuts on the windowsill. Late at night, he would tell him stories from his youth. _No, not those stories. Never those._

And they would crunch on roasted chickpeas and dried apricots. And Thranduil would play the guitar or the lute that Maglor gave him for Legolas’ birthday.

Colourful alpaca blankets and velour covered pillows. Purple and turquoise. Amber and silver. Thranduil would take a couple of calls, mostly from Tauriel.

In the morning they would burn pine and fir sap and Legolas would incense each room in a mock ritual of purification. Thranduil would indulge it because there were times when he wished to believe that this would save him from his nightmares.

The dream catcher Legolas made him for Yule still hangs above Thranduil’s bed, with blue feathers and small pearlescent beads.

A day or so before the New Year’s eve they would have guests. Most of them at Legolas’ request.

Gimli would come and stay with them for a couple of days helping with preparation and with the groceries. Thranduil is amazed at how well he gets along with the young dwarf. He’s always so polite and lends a hand wholeheartedly. If he could, Thranduil would have him stay with them but he doubts Gilda would wish to part with her son.

Later, Thranduil would make official invitations, even for Elrond’s brood and Took’s nephews and the Gamgees. He hopes one day that Sam would take upon landscape design, even though he seems to like basic gardening and cooking just as much. The Gamgees happen to own a business with organic produce and Thranduil relies on them for his winter stock.

Downstairs, where they have the fireplace Gimli and Legolas would set the large oval table and restock the logs. Then Thranduil would make the phone calls and they would have a feast because no one turned them down, ever. Thranduil would get help with the cooking. It was usually from Galion and his wife, Galiel, the neighbours if living across the forest would qualify as being close neighbours.  Sweet potatoes, veggie moussaka, dark leafy green salads, roasted soybeans, all kinds of seeds and nuts, grapes and apples, apple pies, and pumpkin tarts.

While he enjoys preparing these and setting the table but there were times, especially with new guests, when he would anxiously wait for a negative reaction toward the menu. 

He knows what most people think. That he’s doing it because he’s vain or to be hip and that he’s narrow-minded enough to impose his tastes and his desires on Legolas, who is a teenager still growing. He doesn’t do it because of that. Repulsion pushed him. It’s part of his personal history that he never wishes Legolas to know. He knows his son. He’ll try to see the good in his father, always.

He wishes him to know that he was young and foolish. Awed by the unhinged display of power, seduced by pretty words and terrifyingly pleasurable promises. Thranduil thought he was making love to him but all that Annatar was capable of was possession. He had him in body and he wished him in spirit as well. He demanded adoration but he gave nothing in return. He ordered room service and ate his steak raw, almost. He chewed slowly, and fastidiously cut bits of it. He smirked at Thranduil, who pleaded to be untied. He was terribly young and teary eyed, consumed with questions and confused beyond measure by the thrill of his false love. Blood would trickle down his lips and Annatar would keep him in place to feed him a kiss, to force him in sharing.

That is the reason and to him, it’s a perfectly good one. Years after, he cannot even touch meat, cannot even look at it. Anything that comes from a being, he doesn’t want to take. He knows what it’s like to be used.

 

There was no roasted pork, no ribs bathed in buttery gravy and no cheese. They would think him nuts. He expected he would be mocked when he invited his employees from the architecture firm over for dinner for the first time.

When he opened the door for Tauriel to come in, she appeared holding two immense black radishes and a huge butternut squash. “Do you like my babies?” She winked at him. He cringed.

“I would have brought you a sack of potatoes but I had to travel light.” She smirked in that cocky fashion of hers and Feren appeared behind her giving Thranduil an apologetic smile. “We’re here together.” At least he brought good wine. Dorwinion.

“Together… as in _my-car-broke-together_ , boss.” Tauriel clarified. He cannot stand that appellative.

He cannot stand that appellative.

“Yeah, I solemnly swear I will not call you _boss_  anymore, Thranduil.” Good. His face relaxes somehow.

At least they brought something they could use at the table because Elros just dumped his theatre tickets on him. “It’s a plus one.” He reminded Thranduil who found out later that Elros had broken up with his long-term partner just before the holidays. And he gets to have their couple’s night tickets.

He goes with Legolas, as usual. It’s a superb representation of Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker.

During the meal, he expects veiled comments but everybody seems to have their mouths busy with eating or laughing. Never at him. Which is good. The hobbits finish the grilled mushrooms in a matter of seconds and Elros is halfway his fourth glass. Legolas insists on a seat next to Tauriel and she pulls him into a hug. The moment her boobs squish on his son’s chest, Thranduil winces. It’s no wonder Legolas is silent and blushing during the meal. Elrond’s twins are awful. He regrets allowing them wine. Estel, on the other hand, although still raised by Elrond, is agreeable and the epitome of politeness and diplomacy. Arwen eats daintily from her plate and occasionally gives him a dimpled smile. She is a radiant and gifted young woman. Feren texts but he fumbles over the dried nuts and occasionally stuffs his mouth to the point of choking.

Gilda and Glóin sit at his side. Gilda talks his ears off. He watches Glóin anxiously as he pokes the food with a fork and hopes that he will be tricked by the broccoli and cheese soup. And they are, even though that is not real cheese. Thranduil watches Glóin eat and does so as surreptitiously as possible. He is pleasantly surprised when afterwards, Arwen politely asks him if she can play the piano.She’s the only one that he’ll let touch it. The grand piano is the only thing his mother left behind.

The girl is talent incarnate. She plays Rachmaninoff divinely. He’s never heard something like that before. It is strange and beautiful that she is here, in his home and not in an opera house. Everything is strange about this winter night because the hobbits clear the table while Gimli and Glóin start on the dishes. Gilda is taking over the duty of opening the front door for the new guests. Elrond, Gandalf and Lady Galadriel who never brings her husband, saying he’s with the orphans but before Thranduil could ask which orphans, Gandalf lights his pipe and the hobbits burst in. Everybody loves Gandalf, Thranduil included. He welcomes him as an old friend. In fact, without Gandalf and Lady Galadriel’s help, he wouldn’t be here in possession of his father’s inheritance. He is most grateful.

Arwen starts on Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Indeed, tonight the moon is huge and he hopes to get some time alone with Legolas and watch it from the observatory. He approaches the piano where Estel, Elron’s protégé, watches Arwen’s every move. Thranduil looks at the girl’s hands fly on the keys like butterflies but his eyes rest comfortably on Legolas’ drawing of them together. It was his present for Valentine’s day because he remarked innocently that his Adar never gets anything with the special occasion. Later, he would insist it was a silly thing to do to the point of apologising but Thranduil insisted on framing it himself.

 

The house is silent no more. At least in his dreams. The house is full of life and so is Thranduil. Galion drinking wine and his wife goading the ‘little ones’ to sing winter hymns. Elrond, taking him to his study with a light pat on the back, Gandalf smoking with Glóin and Gilda.

The halls are all polished wood and white wool rugs. They mount the stairs to his study. Lady Galadriel is already there, comfortable on his sofa and she has opened the window to the south. She watches Dol Guldur as the snow settles on the ledge.

Sauron’s tower is dark and brooding, erect like a sharp blackened stalactite on the white landscape.

He thinks he dreams but Elrond and Galadriel disappear. There’s only the cold coming from the window and the howling wind. There are fires in the distance. Wolves howling and other inhuman noises. There is cold and Thranduil notices too late that he’s not properly dressed for winter. He looks down and the beast is back, prowling in his courtyard. He sees the paw prints in the snow. Larke, black spots on pristine white. And there is Legolas, on his back, arms spread, saying “Look, Ada, I’m making angels in the snow.”

He’s barely seven.

And the beast, like a sick, hairless panther looks intently at him and then at Legolas, who is unaware and just laughing innocently. He sees the stairs as he runs and he doesn’t recognise them.

“Get back in,” he shouts, but the door doesn’t want to unlock. The room is black and the curtains are red. There is a bed and for some reason, his eyes are fixated on the handcuffs: black leather and chrome metal.

He knows these sheets, dark, midnight blue satin. _“Because your skin contrasts so beautifully with it, my love.”_

The hand caressing him is pale, bony. The man's long fingers, feel just like claws on his abused skin. Long, amber hair hangs on Thranduil’s shoulder and Annatar bites, deliberately.

 _“Don’t leave marks,”_ Thranduil whimpers futilely but it’s too late because his wrists are sore and chafed already. Then, Annatar laughs. It’s not vile, it’s full of delight like Arwen's laughter but this makes it worse. This isn’t _now_. This isn't the present.The mouth claims him again. Annatar bites his ear gently, then more forcefully.

Thranduil feels the wetness on his cheek. This cannot be, he needs to get to Legolas, and he needs to wake for he is dreaming.

_I am dreaming._

At last, Thranduil does but he is back in the same room as before, the windows wide open, banging on the wall. As cold as snow. Again, the beast looks menacingly at Legolas who for some reason looks up at him and there are tears streaking his face.

No, this cannot be. He needs to wake. He needs to wake.

Thranduil wakes for real this time and his freezing hands are numb. He tries to straighten his glasses. He’s fallen asleep at his drafting table. The window is open for some reason and the wind is indeed howling. The record stopped playing long ago. Thranduil shivers. He doesn’t wear his cardigan. He must have left it somewhere. But where?

There’s a foul, disturbing smell on him. He touches his ear and then his cheek. It’s sticky. There is something gelatinous clinging to his hair and sticking to his face. Alarmed, he wipes his face. He cannot even fathom what it is.

The clock in front of his desk says 5:53. All that his mind is focused on is that he needs to close the windows but just as he gets up, he hears a strange noise coming from downstairs. His phone is nowhere to be seen.  Thranduil is certain he left it in one of the pockets but where is his damn cardigan?

Thranduil has never been afraid for his life like this. It's because of Legolas. He cannot just die and leave his an orphan so he grabs the first thing sharp enough that is on the table, the office knife; then blocks the blade and exits the study as quietly as possible.

He can hear it now. It’s the piano. The first few notes of Für Elise repeated over and over, at different time intervals, in different scales. Frenzied, he shouts at the intruder and suddenly, the house turns silent like it was before. Thranduil descends carefully and reaches the piano room. The window is open there as well and the silky curtains float about the room like ghosts. He closes the fallboard on the keys and looks for the framed drawing of him and Legolas. It’s nowhere to be seen and Thranduil cannot think straight. He needs to find it. He needs to have it back.

Surely, he screams and yells and shouts threats. In his chest settles the most peculiar feeling. he is alone here. Utterly alone. And this... _thing_...

 Whatever or whoever was in his house is now gone and he’s left to pick up the clues. He’s turned on all the windows but he hasn’t found the picture or his phone or his cardigan for the matter.

It’s in the kitchen, though, left intact on the table. Legolas’ drawing. He holds it in his arms like the most precious thing. He’s forgotten all about the phone because on the counter is a torn piece of meat, blood still warm and dripping. The sunrise creeps into the kitchen and the viscous blood sparkles on the floor. It fills him with abhorrence, mostly at his past.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love, they are the cookies to my tea, they are the sprinkles on my cupcake!  
> -  
> In no way, I am proselytising veganism. And no, I am not a vegan, in case you're wondering. It's something I am willing to defend for the sake of Thranduil's character who -as you can see- embraced this lifestyle because of his PTSD (if that makes sense to you). Looking at your lover digging into a raw steak and then being force-fed pieces of it through a kiss is just... abusive and a complete disregard for the other's health. Otherwise, it is hazardous. But we talk about Sauron and he's all about violence and disrespect. He's also an obsessed, stalkerish creep.


End file.
